A Lonely Battle in Mongolia to Save Buddhist Relics

By MICHAEL KOHN

Altangerel
and his son, Altan-Ochir, are hereditary curators of the wealth
of a 19th-century Mongolian incarnation of a Buddhist deity.

The
New York Times

A
poorly protected museum in Sainshand holds Buddhist relics.

AINSHAND, Mongolia
— By 1990, Altangerel felt he had kept his secret long enough.

He drove a Russian jeep to a remote ravine in the Gobi with some friends
and started to dig. A few feet down, his shovel struck a wooden crate.
The box was lifted from the ground and opened, and the men stood in
wide-eyed wonder at the contents — a trove of ancient Buddhist
artifacts.

Mr. Altangerel knew the location of 62 similar boxes scattered around
the desert. His grandfather, Tudev, had buried them in the 1930's during
the religious persecution waged by the new Communist government.

Mr. Tudev, who like many Mongolians had only one name, never wrote
anything down. All knowledge of the objects, once the belongings of
an important 19th-century monk and poet, had been passed on orally to
Mr. Altangerel, lest some spy uncover the family secret. The hope was
that better times one day would allow Mr. Altangerel to recover the
boxes and understand their contents.

His knowledge was finally put to use when Mongolia opened up to democracy
in 1990 and restrictions on religion were eased. He recovered about
half the boxes his grandfather had buried, and opened a museum in Sainshand,
460 miles southeast of Ulan Bator, the capital. Lacking proper storage
for the relics, Mr. Altangerel decided to leave the remaining 30 or
so boxes underground.

"I am the only person who knows the location of the crates, so they
are safe," said Mr. Altangerel, 41. "Our museum is not safe."

The museum receives little money from the government and has no alarm
system. Mr. Altangerel and his friends take turns standing guard. The
theft of Buddhist treasures has become a serious problem in Mongolian
museums and temples, with objects often ending up in the hands of foreign
art dealers.

Still, Mr. Altangerel said, the risks involved in displaying the relics
are justified by the opportunity to study and share them. Despite the
shortage of money and the clear need to improve conditions at the museum,
Mr. Altangerel has refused to sell any part of the collection. He long
ago swore an oath to his grandfather to keep it intact. "My ancestors
and the people of the Gobi have been protecting these artifacts for
five generations," he said.

The artifacts once belonged to Danzan Ravjaa, also known as the Great
and Horrible Saint of the Gobi, a Buddhist monk who was believed to
be the 35th incarnation of Yansang Yidam, a Mongolian deity. Danzan
Ravjaa won fame for his staging of plays at monasteries and his criticism
of the Manchu, who ruled Mongolia and China until 1911. He was also
renowned for his miracles, like healing the sick from great distances,
and was a skilled artist.

After his death in 1856, his personal assistant, Balchinchoijoo, took
an oath to protect his belongings, which included silver statues, jewelry
and books. A museum was established, and Balchinchoijoo's role of takhilch,
or curator, passed to his descendents. The proper heir to this responsibility,
it was said, would have a special birthmark on his back.

In 1937, when religious persecution was at its height, Balchinchoijoo's
great-great-grandson, Mr. Tuduv, stashed a portion of the objects into
crates and buried them. Also hidden were Danzan Ravjaa's remains.

Two months after Mr. Tuduv's desperate plan started, and with only
10 percent of the collection buried, Mongolian Communist troops demolished
Hamryn Hiid, the monastery that Danzan Ravjaa had built in the 1820's.
The soldiers carted away what was left and sent gold and silver objects
to the Soviet Union to be melted down for bullion.

The purge years of the 1930's left more than 700 monasteries in ruins
and 27,000 people dead, including 17,000 Buddhist monks. Communist doctrine,
which forbade the teaching of religion or of history before the 1921
revolution, erased Danzan Ravjaa from textbooks until reforms allowed
some of his poetry to be studied in the 1960's. Interest revived in
1968, when a nomad stumbled on a cavern where two crates were hidden.
He dutifully turned them over to the authorities, and they were burned.

After Mongolia abandoned Communism in 1990, Danzan Ravjaa was rehabilitated
in the history books. The new freedom of religion has also allowed the
reconstruction of dozens of monasteries, including Hamryn Hiid, which
is now served by seven monks. Before its destruction, the monastery
housed more than 500 monks and had schools of astronomy, art and theater.

Mr. Altangerel says tourist dollars would allow the restoration of
the monastery to its former glory. He also hopes to erect a museum that
would ensure the safety of the items inside the 30 odd boxes still buried.
In the summer, he shuttles foreign visitors to Hamryn Hiid, about 25
miles south of Sainshand.

While Mr. Altangerel is willing to wait for investors and tourists
to turn up at this bleak desert outpost to finance his museum, his colleagues
have grown impatient. Mr. Bold fears that if something should happen
to Mr. Altangerel, the location of the boxes and the history of Danzan
Ravjaa will be lost. "We need to complete our work while he is still
with us," said Mr. Bold.

But Mr. Altangerel has his son, Altan-Ochir, the heir to the title
of Danzan Ravjaa's takhilch. The promise that this 11-year-old can maintain
the legacy of the monk seems to be etched on his body. Like his father
and the takhilch that preceded Mr. Altangerel, he bears the distinguishing
birthmark.